


Vogue

by harry_styleswho



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - No One Direction, Confident Harry Styles, F/M, Fashion & Couture, Model Harry, One Shot, Photography, but it gets better, he's honestly kind of a jerk at first
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:35:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23604655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harry_styleswho/pseuds/harry_styleswho
Summary: Ophelia Evans is an up-and-coming photographer who gets the opportunity of her lifetime. But when her past comes back to haunt her in form of a overly-confident model, she quickly feels as if the walls are closing in on her. Quite literally.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Original Female Character(s), Original Female Character/Original Male Character (past)
Kudos: 9





	Vogue

Ophelia was running late.

Honestly, it wouldn’t have been that big of a deal if this wasn’t the single, most important photoshoot of her entire career, an _Another_ _Man_ magazine shoot. And really, she only had Beau to blame. If her roommate wasn’t the single, most irritating person she had ever met, she would have probably been to the set on time. But alas, he made her celebrate landing such a gig last night with copious amounts of alcohol, and her alarm hadn’t been set, resulting in her nearly nose-diving into the lift.

She was practically drenched in sweat as she watched the doors almost slam shut in front of her before she yelled, “Hold the door!” And whoever was in that lift must’ve been some sort of angel, because Ophelia saw a hand clamp onto the metal, stopping it from shutting all the way. She was ready to get down on her knees and worship whoever it was when she made her way into the lift.

“Thank you,” Ophelia said in between heavy pants. “For holding the door, thanks.”

Ophelia knew she looked like a hot mess. Her chest was heaving in rapid pants, there was sweat pouring from her body, and her camera and equipment suddenly didn’t feel like staying strapped to her shoulders. She tried maneuvering around to fix the issue, and when she finally looked over at the person, she knew she wasn’t setting such a great first impression with her contortions, so she promptly stopped.

The lift guy cleared his throat. There was a smug look about him that Ophelia didn’t quite like; she immediately narrowed her eyes at him.

“It’s no problem at all, love,” he said while smirking. Ophelia frowned. “You looked a tad frazzled, so I figured it was the least I could do.”

“My best friend got me drunk last night, and I forgot to set my alarm.” She felt the need to explain, though she wasn’t quite sure why.

“Ah.” Lift Guy nodded his head. “Does she often get you drunk?”

Ophelia side-eyed him. “Well, _he_ is a strong supporter of using alcohol as a means of celebration. I’m a photographer, and I’ve got my first big shoot today.”

Lift Guy only nodded, looking suddenly bored with the conversation. Silently scoffing, Ophelia took the silence as an opportunity to properly right her equipment’s straps, tugging them further on her body and working on detangling it all.

By the time she was finished rearranging everything, her eyes flicked up to the lift screen. They were on level four. She needed to be on level ten; Ophelia inwardly cursed.

“You wanna know something funny?” His voice was suddenly right in her ear, and Ophelia jumped, instinctively angling her body farther away from him. “In all those movies, they always joke about lifts having funny music, but there’s never any music playing. At least, not in the lifts I’m in.”

Ophelia looked at him oddly. “Real fascinating, mate.”

“Some people would find it interesting.” Lift Guy shrugged, looking mildly offended. Ophelia just turned her head away from him.

The lift dinged, and Ophelia looked up to see that they were on level nine. Lift Guy immediately started making his way towards the door.

“Well, this is me,” he said, turning around to face Ophelia before leaving. “It was great meeting you, Hangover Girl. And some friendly advice, might want to put some concealer on under your eyes. You’ve got hangover-bags for days.”

He winked, and then left. Ophelia had the sudden urge to punch something.

* * *

“No, I’m telling you, Beau, he was the biggest narcissistic douche-face I’ve ever met.”

Ophelia was finally on set, and it turned out being late wasn’t that big of a deal. The model for the shoot had also been late, so they were pushed back an hour or so while the model got ready. Ophelia had already set up her equipment and camera, and now she was cleaning the lense, balancing her phone between her shoulder and cheek.

Beau Miles had been Ophelia’s best friend for the past ten years, and he had been her roommate for the last two. Ever since he moved from the States, they were attached at the hip. They’ve been with each other through everything. The awkward teenage stage, the awkward university stage, and now the awkward career stage. Ophelia was right by Beau’s side when he came out to his parents, and Beau was right by Ophelia’s side when she told her parents she wasn’t going work for the family’s law firm; she was going to be a photographer. For all intents and purposes, they were each other’s everything. And honestly, Beau has been the only consistent thing in Ophelia’s life for a very long time.

Her best friend sniggered on the other line. “Was he at least hot?”

“How does that have to do with anything?” she asked incredulously, rolling her eyes.

“Come on, Fee.” Beau scoffed. “We both know being hot totally makes up for any douche-y qualities he may have.”

Ophelia chuckled, shaking her head. “That may be your standards for guys, but that’s definitely not mine, babe.”

“Oh, come on! You and I both know Michael was such a douche!”

Ophelia froze. Her stomach gave a heavy lurch at the sound of his name as she stood up straight. She could feel the color draining from her face. Her phone nearly fell from her shoulder if her hand hadn’t caught it before it could even wobble. The next exhale of breath came out a little shaky, and Ophelia hated herself for having this kind of reaction to just the _mention_ of his name.

There were three beats of silence before Beau could even respond.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Beau hissed out, and Ophelia could easily picture him squeezing his eyes shut, shaking his head. “Fee, I’m so sorry. I’m an idiot. Stupid, really. I’m sorry.”

“I-It’s fine,” she stuttered, attempting to regulate her breathing.

“No, it’s not, I—”

“Beau,” she interrupted, making sure her voice stayed calm. “It’s fine, really. I’m okay.”

It took a second for Beau to respond before, “My offer to kick his ass still stands.”

Ophelia barked out a laugh. “Who? Lift Guy or Michael?”

“Both. At the same time. I’ll kick their asses just for you.”

“And I appreciate that.”

“I’m serious,” Beau vowed. “Just say the word, Fee, and I’ll beat the shit out of them.”

“I’ll let you know if I’m ever in need of your services.” Ophelia chuckled in between her words. “Look, I should probably be go. My model still isn’t ready, so I really need to see what’s going on.”

“Okay,” Beau said, “see you at home. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Ophelia hung up the phone, somehow feeling much more relaxed than she had when she first dialed Beau’s number. As she pocketed her phone, her assistant—a university student named Lyla—scuttled past her, and Ophelia quickly caught her arm.

“Hey,” Ophelia greeted, and Lyla smiled in return, “do we have any updates on the model? Are they ready yet?”

“His manager said he’d be ready in ten minutes,” Lyla deadpanned, “but that was thirty minutes ago. So, I’m assuming Mr. Styles is a tad of a diva.”

Ophelia blanched. “Mr. Styles?”

“Um, yeah…” Lyla trailed off, offering Ophelia an odd look. “The model? That’s his name, right?” She looked down to the clipboard in her hand, scanning it before nodding solidly. “Yep, Harry Styles. That’s his name.”

“The one and only,” a voice suddenly sounded between the pair, and Ophelia immediately flinched at the familiarity of it for far too many reasons. When she turned around, she was met with the same smirk she was reaquainted with only an hour before in the lift. Only, she hadn’t known then she was being reaquainted until this very moment. Harry’s eyes focused on her, and his smirk widened. “Ready to get down to business, boss?”

Harry’s hair had been cut since the last time she saw him. When they last met, he was sporting long curls that he often threw into a signature top knot. Now, his hair was much shorter. There were no longer any curls, and majority of it rested on top of his head, the sides having been shaved down. But it was the eyes that drew her in. They always had, and Ophelia cursed herself for not realizing her he was before. She was distracted with almost being late to the shoot and the severity of it for her career that she really wasn’t paying much attention.

Now, she was.

“Ophelia?” Lyla leaned in slowly, looking up at Ophelia in concern. “Are you okay?”

Ophelia shook her head, blinking several times before her gaze focused on Harry. He was still smirking.

“Yeah, _Fee_ , are you okay?” Ophelia flinched at the use of that nickname. “To be frank, I’m a little hurt you didn’t recognize me in the lift. We only used to hang out almost everyday.”

Ignoring him, Ophelia looked towards Lyla. “Let’s just get this over with, okay? Can you set everything?”

Lyla nodded, looking at Harry suspiciously before bristling off.

Harry clapped his hands together, loudly. “All right, let’s get down to business.”

He began walking towards the set, untying his robe as he went. He made it a few steps before he straightened, immediately freezing.

“Oh!” He perked, turning around and walking right up to Ophelia. He leaned in until his lips were nearly pressed against her ear. Ophelia felt light-headed. “Tell Michael I say hi…” He let out a faux gasp, looking down at Ophelia in mock sympathy. Ophelia suddenly felt like throwing something. “Oh, _wait_. I guess you can’t.”

Suddenly, Ophelia drew a blank on responses. She could only glare intensely as Harry’s lips curved in a pleased smile. He winked once, slowly back away from her.

“See you on set, boss.” Then, he turned and strutted off.

Briefly, Ophelia wondered if throwing her camera at the model would be considered irrational. She quickly shook her head of the thought. Her camera was far too valuable.

* * *

“I’m kicking his ass.”

Those were the first words Beau said when Ophelia told him about Lift Guy’s identity after she had gotten home. And he said them with such finality that Ophelia felt a rush of gratitude for her best friend.

After Ophelia was reaquainted with Harry, the shoot went pretty much without fail. Once she was behind the camera, she was able to forget Harry was the one in front of it. As always, with every click and flash, her worries seemed to just dissipate, and it was only her and her camera. After she was done shooting for the day and Harry was off in his dressing room, she quickly packed up, hurrying off of set before Harry could find her again.

“He’d beat the shit out of you, Beau,” Ophelia whispered into her mug of coffee before setting it down on the table in front of them.

Beau looked only mildly offended. “So, I’m a lover not a fighter. It’s the thought that counts, right?”

Ophelia let out a soft chuckle, sinking further down on the couch. She leaned her head down on Beau’s shoulder, and she immediately felt the weight of his head on top of hers. She closed her eyes, revelling in the familiarity of the situation.

“What am I going to do, Beau?”

She felt him shift to look down at her. “What do you mean?”

“With Harry.” She lifted her head up. “What am I going to do?”

“You’re going to work with him,” he said without any prevail.

Ophelia looked at him incredulously. “He’s Michael’s best friend, Beau.”

Beau shrugged. “You’ll just have to get over that.”

Ophelia’s brows furrowed together as she scooted away from Beau. Her lips tugged down in a frown, and her stomach suddenly felt heavy.

“Get over it?” she echoed, shaking her head. “How could you say that?”

“No, wait.” Beau scooted closer, taking Ophelia’s hands in his. “I didn’t mean it like that, Fee. I just mean, this is your big chance. This shoot is huge for your career, and whether you like it or not, Harry Styles is a pretty great name to be associated with in this business. He’s the most well-known international model of his age. You _have_ to work with him. Besides, it’s only for a week.”

Ophelia looked down to their intertwined hands, playing with the silver ring that sat on Beau’s middle finger. She had gotten it specially engraved with a cursive ‘B’ for him on his twenty-first birthday, and she hadn’t seen him without it since she first gave it him.

“And,” he continued, ducking his head down to try and make eye contact, “if you’re the Ophelia I know you are then I _know_ you’re going to kick this shoot’s ass.”

Slowly, a smile curved its way onto Ophelia’s lips, and Beau’s soon mirrored hers at the sight. She shook her head, looking at Beau gratefully.

“I really hate him,” she finally said. “I might kill him by the end of the week.”

Beau snorted. “I’ll help you, and then we can share a cell in prison.”

“Because we have to follow each other everywhere?” She laid her head back down on his shoulder.

“Damn straight.”

* * *

_It was well over three in the morning before Michael stumbled through the front door. Ophelia was waiting, sitting on the couch in the dark. She had long since turned off the television, opting to wait in the dark rather than mindlessly and fruitlessly trying to distract herself. She was much too accustomed to this pattern._

_From his first two steps in to the flat, Ophelia knew he was drunk, and she also knew nothing good ever came from Michael being drunk. His phone dinged three times, then he cursed, and fumbled with his footing. Ophelia stood up, walking towards him, and when his eyes settled on his girlfriend, she felt her stomach drop. Something was definitely wrong._

_“Fee,” he whispered quietly, brokenly. Ophelia flinched at the nickname. “Fee, I’m so sorry.”_

_A humorless laugh left her lips as she shook her head. She offered the man before her one expressionless looked before she made her decision. This wasn’t how she was supposed to live her life. Not anymore._

_“I’m going to stay with Beau for awhile,” she told him, keeping her voice low. “I can’t do this anymore, Michael. I just can’t.”_

_And then she left, without a single word of protest from Michael._

* * *

Ophelia was vastly losing her patience.

She was standing next to Lyla, camera hanging from her neck. They were both watching Harry, albeit Ophelia was probably watching him for different reasons.

It was the third day of the shoot, meaning Ophelia only had four more days to deal with the infamous, brooding model, formerly known as Harry Styles. And each day, the process was pretty much the same: Harry showing up twenty to forty minutes late, hitting on all the interns and delaying the shoot more, and mockingly bringing up Michael in any way possible. It was probably safe to say that Ophelia really did hate him. As in, a lot.

“I’m going to fire him.”

Lyla’s head turned sharply towards Ophelia as the sound of her voice. Her eyebrows shot high on her head.

“No, you’re not,” she said in a calm voice. “And you can’t.”

Ophelia turned to look at her. “You know, I hate how rational you are sometimes.”

“It’s what makes me a good assistant.” Lyla shrugged.

Ophelia’s response was muffled by a high-pitched giggle that redirected just about everyone’s attention. Ophelia looked over to see one of the interns chatting with Harry, her fingers slowly tracing up and down his arm as she cackled about something he said. There was an annoying glint in Harry’s eyes, and Ophelia felt like hitting him. When she looked over at Lyla, she was giving Harry the same goo-goo expression the intern was currently adorning.

Suddenly, she had- had enough.

It took exactly fifteen seconds to march towards Harry. When she reached him, she didn’t offer an explanation, she simply stood next to the intern, tapping her on the shoulder. The intern turned slowly, the annoyed look vanishing when she realized it was Ophelia who tapped her shoulder.

“You’re here to work,” Ophelia said in a clipped tone. “Please, go do so.”

And with that, the intern scurried off, and Ophelia’s attention turned to Harry’s arrogant expression. His lips tilted into a smirk, and Ophelia had the urge to smack the smile off his face.

“Love, if you wanted me for yourself, all you had to do was ask.”

Ophelia almost gagged. “That’s not what I’m over here for, but I would like you to head onto set. We have two hours to do the outside shots before we lose the light, and you’re wasting that time chatting up my interns. So, go on.”

“So bossy,” he quipped, making his way towards the set, simultaneously brushing his shoulder against hers. “Did Michael like that side of you? I bet he was one for a bossy girl in bed.”

There was a plethora of responses to throw in Harry’s face, all of which would mostly likely end in her demise, so Ophelia promptly bit her tongue, narrowing her gaze at him.

“Just get to set.”

And then she promptly stormed off, cursing the name Harry Styles in every way she knew possible.

* * *

_It took exactly three days for Michael to call Ophelia. And when he did, he was drunk. Ophelia knew nothing good would come from this._

_“I’m so sorry,” he cried into the phone, words slurring. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Fee.”_

_Ophelia wished those words weren’t so familiar. She wished she didn’t hear them as often as she breathed, but she did, and everything she wished for turned into just that. Wishful thinking. Beau sat in the bed beside her. They were watched a trash TV marathon, compiling all trash reality shows from_ Keeping Up with the Kardashians _to_ Real Housewives _into one big trashy night. It was a tradition built upon years of tolerance for terrible shows, and Ophelia loved every second of it._

_So, when Michael’s number appeared on her phone, she knew it was the universe’s way of telling her she wasn’t meant to enjoy anything._

_“Those words don’t mean much to me, Michael,” she said quietly, ignoring Beau’s eyes burning a hole into her head. “Not anymore.”_

_“But—” he paused, voice catching—“I love you.”_

_Ophelia never thought those words would hurt._

* * *

The doors of the lift were just about to close when a hand wrenched itself in between them, and Ophelia inwardly cursed at the sight of the ring-clad hand. She leaned her head against the back wall, closing her eyes as Harry made his way into the lift. She didn’t need to look at him to know his face held all the arrogance.

It wasn’t until the doors slowly shut that he finally spoke, and Ophelia didn’t need to look up to know his eyes were on her.

“You know, you could at least act a little pleased to see me.”

She didn’t lift her head from the wall, simply turning it to face him. “I’m a photographer, not an actress.”

Harry’s smirk widened. “Ouch.”

“Douche,” she murmured under her breath, shaking her head as she took a step away from him.

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t catch that.” Harry leaned in closer, cupping his hand around his ear. “What d’ya say? Must’ve missed it.”

Something inside of Ophelia exploded, and she whipped around to face Harry. “Do you get off on making everybody in your general vicinity completely miserable? Is that something you enjoy?”

Harry’s hand fell from his ear, face scrunching up.

“Because I try so hard to be professional with you, Harry,” she told him, narrowing her eyes, “but you seem to want to make my life a living hell. What happened? We use to be friends, remember? Is it because I broke up with Michael? Is that it? Is that why you hate me? Because of some weird guy loyalty shit, because news flash, he cheated on me. A lot, actually. Which means I definitely didn’t do anything remotely wrong in that department, so I just don’t get why—”

Ophelia was interrupted by a rather loud screeching noise, and then the lift’s lights flickered off. It was pitch black for a moment before one emergency light flickered on in the corner, and the lift came to a complete stop.

“Fuck,” Harry uttered when the emergency button began flashing red. “It stopped.”

Ophelia glared at him. “Oh, really? Hadn’t noticed.”

Then she leaned forward to press the button.

“What the hell are you doing?” Harry yelped.

“It’s the emergency button, Styles,” she quipped back bitingly, “and in case you haven’t noticed, this is an emergency.”

“Hello? Is everyone all right?” A feminine voice from the lift’s speaker asked, and Ophelia leaned in closer.

“Yes, we’re fine, but the lift has stopped.”

“Help is being sent your way. Remain calm and patient.”

Ophelia nodded. “Okay, thank you.”

Then the woman hung up, and it was just Ophelia and Harry again.

“Help is coming,” she told Harry even though she was very aware of the fact that he heard every word.

She moved to the corner of the lift and sat down, gently placing her bagged equipment beside her. Harry only nodded his head as he leaned it against the wall of the lift, sinking to the floor with his knees hugged to his chest. Even in the barely lit confines, Ophelia felt like Harry looked oddly pale.

“Are you all right?” she asked slowly, leaning forward.

Harry shook his head, sliding down the wall. “Not too big a fan of tight spaces.”

“Oh,” Ophelia replied lamely, “um, do you want talk about it?”

He gave her a skeptical look. “Because talking about claustrophobia suddenly cures it?”

“Shut up,” she grumbled, turning her head. “I was trying to help, arsehole.”

Harry’s face fell immediately before allowing his head to fall back against the wall with a quiet _thunk_. It was silent for sometime, and Ophelia took to counting the ceiling tiles. She reached number twenty-five when Harry spoke up again.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. The words were so quiet, Ophelia convinced herself they weren’t real. Then she looked over at Harry, and the look on his face told her they were. “Not for just right now. For all of it. I’ve been a real dick to you.”

Ophelia nodded. “Yeah, you really have,” she admitted quietly, keeping eye contact with him. Harry only nodded, looking away. “Can I ask why? Is it really because of Michael? Are you that mad at me for breaking up with him?”

“No, no.” Harry was quick to shake his head, face scrunching in disapproval. “It’s definitely not because of Michael. He and I actually don’t even talk anymore. We’re not friends.”

“Really?” Ophelia quirked an eyebrow up. “Because you guys use to be best mates, if I remember correctly. In fact, when Michael and I started to date, you were even jealous of me. Thinking I’d take away your best mate.”

“Well, I guess, sometimes you don’t always know people as well as you think.”

Ophelia nodded solemnly, turning her head away. “Yeah.”

It was silent after that. Though, for some odd reason, the silence wasn’t as uncomfortable as it was before. Ophelia felt no compulsion to busy her mind with mundane doings. She was more than fine with simply sitting in the silence with Harry, so that was exactly what she did.

Though, the peace only lasted a few more minutes before Harry turned his head, watching Ophelia for a brief moment. Feeling his eyes on her, she turned to look at him, breath hitching at the soft expression on his face.

“Fee, I just—”

His words were interrupted by a loud screeching noise, and the pair jolted up to a standing position. The lift’s doors were soon pried open by two a man and a woman, both wearing firefighting uniforms. Ophelia tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach as she looked over at Harry. The moment between them was lost, and she barely had enough time to wonder what Harry was going to say to her before the two firefighters ushering her out of the lift.

When Harry was safely out, he muttered a quick thank you to their rescuers before scurrying off. Ophelia could only watch his retreating form before the female firefighter handed her- her bag of equipment.

And then it was over.

* * *

_Ophelia went back home after a week of staying at Beau’s place. When she realized Michael wasn’t there, nor was his stuff, she sat down on the couch and cried. She knew it was over. Long before this, but the physicality of it suddenly became real to her. Michael was gone. His things were gone. It was real. It was over._

_She only allowed herself a few minutes to cry before she collected herself, brushing the tears away as if they never existed. Then, she went about her day._

_She was in the middle of folding her freshly laundered clothes when there was a knock at the door. For a moment, her heart thudded, because she immediately hoped it was Michael. But she pushed that hope down. It was over._

_Ophelia opened the door, assuming it was Beau or maybe it was Lyla, but it was decidedly neither._

_“Harry?” she asked, as if his physical presence wasn’t enough to convince her. She needed his verbal confirmation._

_“Uh, yeah.” He cleared his throat, waving awkwardly, “hi.”_

_“Hi.”_

_His eyes darted behind her. “Can, uh, can we talk? Inside?”_

_“He’s not here,” was her response, and she was surprised when Harry nodded._

_“Yeah, I know. Can we talk?”_

_Ophelia stepped aside, allowing him in. They made their way to the couch like they had done a thousand times before, expect a single key factor was missing. Ophelia tried to ignore it. They sat down, and she made sure there was a least a couch cushion between them._

_It was quiet for a second or two before Harry said, “I’m sorry.”_

_Ophelia’s head whipped around to face him, eyebrows furrowed. “For what?”_

_“For Michael,” he clarified, and Ophelia swallowed the lump in her throat. “He didn’t have any right to treat you like that.”_

_Ophelia scoffed, shaking her head. “No, he didn’t, but he still did.”_

_“Fee, I—”_

_“Don’t call me that. That’s reserved for friends and loved ones, and you fall under neither of those categories. Not anymore.”_

_Harry’s face scrunched in hurt. “What d’you mean?”_

_“He’s your best friend, Harry,” she said softly. “And I don’t want anyone in my life that has any sort of connection with him. Please.”_

_“Okay.” His voice cracked, so he promptly cleared it. “I’ll just go then.”_

_“I think that’s a good idea.” She nodded._

_And so, he went._

* * *

It was the last day of shooting, and Ophelia was packing up her equipment. She and Harry hadn’t spoken since that exchange in the lift, and she was almost hoping that he’d approach her today. But the day was almost over, and he had yet to do so.

She was just finishing up cleaning her lense when Lyla walked up to her. “Hey, you all right?”

“What do you mean?” She placed her camera in its bag.

“You just seem a little off today,” Lyla clarified.

Ophelia shook her head. “I’m fine. Just tired, I guess. It’s been a long week.”

“Well, I have some good news,” she informed. “Do you want to hear it?”

Despite herself, Ophelia smiled as she nodded.

“ _Vanity Fair_ called.” Lyla smiled widely, nearly squealing as she delivered the news. “They saw some sample pictures of the shoot, and they want to do a cover story on you as an up-and-coming artist.”

Ophelia felt her heart stop, eyes growing wide as a smile overtook her face. “You’re joking. You’re totally fucking with me, aren’t you?”

Lyla only grinned while shaking her head. Ophelia squealed.

“Lyla, we did it!”

And then Ophelia threw her arms around Lyla, pulling her into a hug. For some odd reason, as her eyes scanned the room for Harry’s form, her stomach dropped when she couldn’t find him. Ophelia wasn’t so sure she liked the feeling.

* * *

A month later, Ophelia found herself on the cover of _Vanity Fair_. And she was fairly certain that had everything to do with the reason she was booked solid for the next year. The interview, itself, was raw and real, and Ophelia was exceptionally proud of it. She never wanted her career to be something manufactured. She wanted it to be real, and she wanted it be about photography. So far, it was just that.

Now, It was one of those weird days where Ophelia actually had it off, so naturally, she spent it taking pictures, and her all time favorite location to take pictures was Hyde Park. She was busy snapping away at a small bundle of flowers at the base of a tree when a throat clearing startled her. She jumped, whirling around, and her heart nearly stopped when her eyes met green ones.

It had been a month since she’d finished Harry’s shoot, and since then, it had blown up. Harry’s face was on every news stand and in every shop, and it was weird to think that it was Ophelia’s work. Some people booked her for her work in that issue of _Another Man,_ and she would always be grateful.

It had also been a month since she’d seen Harry in person. His face was on just about every corner of the city, and sometimes, her cover magazine would sit right next to his (when that happened, her stomach would always do a weird flip thing), but she had yet to see him in person.

And so, seeing him now was almost enough to knock the breath out of her.

“Figures that on your day off you’d still be taking pictures.” He smirked, eyes crinkling up.

Ophelia frowned. “How’d you know it was my day off?”

“I called Lyla,” he said matter-of-factly, “and when she said you had the day off, I figured you were here. It’s always been your picture-taking place.”

“Harry, what—”

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out before she could say anything. “I’m sorry for running out after what happened in the lift and after the shoot. I really wanted to talk about everything, but I was scared.”

“Scared of what?” she asked, face scrunching in confusion.

“Scared of not falling under either of the categories.”

For a second, Ophelia didn’t understand his words. But the confusion only lasted a moment before her eyes widened in understanding. Harry said those words with the utmost vulnerability, his eyes were wide with the feeling, and Ophelia finally understood it all.

“That’s what I told you,” she whispered, “when you came to see me. After the break up. That’s what I told you.”

Harry nodded. “And when I saw you in the lift for the first time again, I thought maybe if I were a complete douche, it’d make it easier for you. For me to really not be in any category.”

“Oh my god, Harry.” Those were the only words she could think to say.

“I’ve always hated Michael for what he did to you, but I think I’ve hated him more for what he did to you and me.” Harry smiled sadly. “We were best friends back then, Fee. Remember?”

Ophelia did. As much time as she spent with Michael, she spent with Harry. And because of that, they grew quite close. Behind Beau, Harry was Ophelia’s best friend back then. In fact, he was the one that started the nickname Fee.

“And,” Harry kept going when Ophelia didn’t respond, “I think somewhere along the way, I fell for you. Hard.”

“Harry,” she whispered, somehow thinking the volume of her voice could break the fragileness of the moment.

He smiled sadly, ducking his head. “And I don’t think I ever un-fell for you, Fee. But it feels like I’ve kinda fucked up, huh?”

“Fucked up?” she asked, because she couldn’t think of anything else to say. Her mind was whirling, going a mile a minute, and each and every thought consisted of the green eyed man before her.

Harry nodded, looking away for a moment before turning to face her. “I guess I didn’t realize it until after Michael and you ended, and then you told me you wanted nothing to do with me. I was crushed, Fee.”

She tilted her head to the side. “What did you realize?”

“That I was in love with you.” He shrugged. “That I _am_ in love with you,” he quickly clarified, suddenly looking sheepish.

Ophelia’s eyebrows furrowed, though her heart began to race beneath her chest. “Then why act like you hated me? I don’t get it.”

“Like I said before,” he whispered before, “I thought it’d be easier for you if I turned out to be a completely different person. That way, you just wouldn’t _have_ to have me in your life. At least, you wouldn’t want to.”

“You did it for me?” she asked softly.

Harry nodded. “Of course I did.”

Ophelia didn’t say anything. She simply lifted her camera, aiming it towards Harry and snapping a picture. When she drew it back down, Harry’s eyes were filled with amusement, but his brows were furrowed in the middle, a small smile playing on her lips.

“What was that for?”

Ophelia smiled. “Just wanted something to remember this moment.”

Then she surged forward and kissed him, and she definitely didn’t need a camera to remember that moment.

**Author's Note:**

> come chat with me on tumblr @harry-styleswho. tpwk xx


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